


Revenge is Going to Taste So Sweet

by justwantedtodance



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Aftercare, Dirty Talk, F/M, Knifeplay, Post-Apotheosis (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Revenge, Rough Sex, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwantedtodance/pseuds/justwantedtodance
Summary: Paul and Emma as the new heads of the Hive exact their revenge on the people who tormented them in their mortal lives.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Revenge is Going to Taste So Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> There's 11 musical references throughout this fic, including the title, so if you FIND all of them, you get a virtual cookie 😊🍪
> 
> This one does get a bit graphic, grim, and bloody at times, but there's a soft ending!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this new fic!

_You’re nothing until the thrill of the kill becomes your only law._

They say to look for the blood in the water, but when there isn’t any freshly available to sniff out their prey, that just makes the hunt more fun.

As of today, about 80 percent of the town has been infected. Hatchetfield isn’t a large island, but infecting over three-quarters of its population in less than three weeks is an accomplishment not to be taken lightly. Emma missed out on quite a bit of that while in the hospital for her leg, but she’s ready to take over this town. Paul gained a large sum of confidence when he took over the Hive, and while he used to be frightened and timid, all of that is ancient history now that he’s the one everyone answers to. 

Working with General McNamara and the rest of PEIP helps them narrow the search for the rest of the uninfected population who somehow managed to find shelter after the meteor eruption and haven’t come out since. Emma and Paul scan the list and find quite a few familiar names, some that fuel rage and others that incite dread. 

The task force to finish off the rest of Hatchetfield meets together around hazy lamplight into the late hours of night dividing up the rest of the citizens’ names for their strategy. One by one, each member of the team chooses a name for their list until every remaining resident is assigned. Emma’s turn comes, and she selects a pair of names on her tablet that shocks Paul and the rest of the table.

He whispers to her, “Are you sure, Em?”

She nods. “I need to do this, Paul. It has to be me.”

His hand rubs her back while his other arm pulls her closer as she sits on his lap. “I understand. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, okay?”

“Okay.” She turns her head to give him a quick kiss and the discussion continues until the list is complete.

Later, on their own in bed, they strategize in between heavy makeout sessions fueled by how arousing the other makes torture sound. Paul and Emma have different approaches to their kills that actually differs from their everyday dispositions. While Emma is normally all bite and impulse, her strategy to kill is much more methodical. She loves playing mind games with her victims, almost killing from the inside out. Paul, on the other hand, hates the long game, doesn’t enjoy the mind torture as much as Emma does, so he’s been known to make the suffering quick but intense.

The next morning, the new heads of the Hive part ways with a passionate kiss, ready for their first attacks of the day.

Now, it’s time for some payback.

* * *

_Who’s watching? Tell me, who’s watching?_

Joe Wilcox. A name Emma hoped she would never have to hear again after that fateful day in court two years ago, but it’s been the one name on her mind since she and Paul made attack plans late last night. She relived the trauma of her horrific experience in her dreams last night, but once and for all, she would finally put those fears to rest.

She knows exactly where he is. He’s got a routine as he always did, and she’s been keeping tabs on him since she found out he hadn’t fallen victim to the apotheosis. For being an expert at stalking women, he sure knows how to make himself an easy target now that the tables have turned. The predator becomes the prey, and the game takes an unexpected twist. There’s no court of law or institution standing in her way of exacting the same torment she suffered through for over a year before she finally got her restraining order. Now, in the wake of this apocalypse, nothing and no one will stop her from unleashing her revenge.

Emma makes her moves small at first, almost indiscernible unless he were intently paying attention. When he gets up to use the bathroom at Starbucks (since he’s not allowed within 100 feet of Beanie’s,) she rearranges the items on his table and vanishes out of his sight before he returns. He takes his usual route home, now almost deserted with the spread of the apotheosis, but Joe sees a few familiar faces along the way, tipping his cap to those who pass.

And then he hears it. Humming. Almost indistinguishable against the buzzing from the nuclear plant that everyone in town had become accustomed to, despite it being miles away from the center of town. But the beautiful lyric soprano breaks through the industrial din like a siren’s song. The voice is familiar yet unknown but beautiful all the same. Joe is enraptured, his eyes rolling back in his head as he wanders home.

He’s eating dinner by the television when it starts again a little louder than before, and he swears he can make out a faint few words. Watching… tell me… feel… somebody’s…? Joe leaves the couch to investigate near the window. By the time he slides open the door to search for the noise, she’s long gone, hiding behind a bush to conceal herself.

She hears him mumble, “What the fuck,” before closing the door and returning back inside. The seed has been planted, and she’s ready for her real plan to begin.

As she hears the shower water turn on, Emma sneaks through the back door, tiptoeing to his bedroom. She knows he keeps a glass of water on his bedside table, which makes it almost too easy to dissolve the muscle relaxer into the glass. He’ll be back in a few minutes to finish the water, foggy-brained and ready to torture in no time.

The sucker takes the bait, and it isn’t long before the drowsiness sets in for Emma to make her move. She ties his hands above his head and slaps him across the cheek to wake him up.

Groggily, Joe stirs, his voice slurred. “Ugh, what the… Emma Perkins?”

“Surprised to see me?”

“That’s one word for it,” he unsuccessfully attempts to flirt under the influence of the muscle relaxer. He attempts to move his hands, but the restraints she used have little give. Joe barks out a laugh. “Didn’t realize you were so kinky, Perkins. If you wanted to tie me up so bad, all you had to do was ask.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I have a boyfriend, jackass. And anyway, I’d die before I fucked you. Conveniently enough, I’m already dead, and I would still rather chop my leg off.”

“The fuck are you talking about? You’re standing right in front of me, so you’re not dead.”

She laughs and circles around to his other side. “I may look alive, but I’ve been dead for weeks. I guess you haven’t been keeping up with the news then. Probably too caught up in finding another short brunette to obsess over.” Weakly, he struggles against the bonds, and Emma ignores his futile attempt to escape. “Don’t bother with trying to get out of those.”

“What do you want from me? You were the one who got that restraining order, so what do you want now? Money, weed, you can have it, I don’t care.”

“I have more of both of those things than you could ever imagine, so no, I don’t want that. But what I do want is to see you suffer. See, alongside my wonderful boyfriend, he and I are in charge of this town now, and that includes everyone in it, dead or alive. When I found out you were still alive, I knew what needed to be done.”

Emma pauses her monologue but only to grab Joe by the throat, her fingers skillfully placed along the carotid artery in his neck. “So, here’s how it’s gonna go. You ruined my life, and you’re gonna pay for it. You’re gonna know exactly how I felt. You’ll be begging me to take mercy on you and just kill you already, but I’m not gonna do that. No, I’m gonna make your skin crawl. You’re gonna fucking suffer, and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”

Just before Joe’s world fades to black, Emma releases him, tossing him back carelessly on his bed and relishing in the pained gasps he takes to catch his breath.

“How does it feel to know that you’ll never control me like you wanted to? I bet it pisses you off, doesn’t it? Come on, you can show me.” Emma taunts him, and he feeds right into it, trying to work up the strength to fight back, but the limpness through his body thanks to the medicine won’t let him.

“I was the one girl you always wanted but never could catch. And when you couldn’t have me anymore, you turned to a new one… until you found out she didn’t want you either. So, what did you do? You killed her and moved on to another girl. That’s when I realized it was never about _me_ ; it was about your sick desire to prey on women who you thought needed protection. Well, guess what, you piece of shit? I don’t need protection anymore. I’m the apex predator now, and you just became my next meal.”

Emma covers his mouth and nose with one hand while her other digs into the sides of his throat, her claw-like nails bringing blood to his skin’s surface. “You deserve to rot for what you’ve done. All the women you’ve hurt, the families you destroyed, you deserve the worst kind of punishment, and I’m gonna make sure all my friends in Hell show you no pity.”

She releases him for a brief moment to let him give a final goodbye. “Please, please, Emma, I’m sorry, okay? Please, just let me go.”

Emma moans. “I love it when they beg, it’s like music to my ears,” she whispers to herself. 

“I—I’ll run, I’ll leave, you’ll never see or hear from me again,” he stammers.

“You’re right, I won’t. No one will when you’re in the darkest corner of Hell. But before you go, there’s one thing you should know.” She grips his chin and looks him dead in the eyes, the blue glow beginning to swirl in her irises. “I. Am not. Afraid. Of you.”

Before he can utter another sound, she cuts off his air supply once more and watches as the light leaves his eyes, the blackness taking hold. She sustains the pressure until she’s certain his heart has stopped and only then grants him the parting gift of snapping his neck.

Emma backs away from the scene of the crime, taking a long breath in and out as she confronts the reality of what she’s done. She’s exorcised the demons she’s held inside for so long, purged herself of the rage and anguish she’s stopped herself from feeling. No longer is the weight of the trauma slowly collapsing her lungs or weighing on her shoulders. 

It is done. Finally. She can rejoice, she can laugh, she can cry. She can breathe. All is well.

* * *

_You know the meek are gonna get what’s comin’ to ‘em by and by._

Her phone rings, and she answers it without a second thought. It’s the first contact she’s had with anyone in weeks since the meteor struck the Starlight who isn’t her cat, so Melissa is grateful for some human interaction. She prays it’s her parents calling to check on her from Centerville a few towns over.

“H… hello?”

“Hey, Melissa,” a familiar voice greets.

“Paul! Oh my gosh! You’re alive?”

He laughs under his breath. Funny word choice there, Mel. “Can’t get rid of me that easily. Unless that’s what you were hoping for?”

“No, of course not! It’s so good to hear from you. So, where have you been? What’s up?”

“Too much to tell on the phone, but maybe we could catch up in person? Why don’t you come over to my place, and I’ll make us some lunch?”

The younger woman claps her hands together and smiles. “Sure, that sounds great. I can be there in about 20 minutes?”

“I’ll see you then.”

1:00 couldn’t come soon enough.

She knocks four times, and Paul calls out from the kitchen that she can come in. Breaking into a run, Melissa finds Paul in the kitchen and wraps him in a hug.

“Paul! Thank god you’re alright, I was so worried about you.”

“I’m more than alright, but how are you? Did you find some place to hide until the worst of it was over?”

She nods. “Yeah, just my aunt and uncle’s basement. I didn’t have any cell service until today, but at least I had Louis to keep me company.”

He returns to cooking but remains engaged in the conversation. “And how’s the sourpuss himself?” Melissa goes to the sink to get some water, but Paul stops her before she can pour it. “Oh, I don’t know if it’s safe to drink from the tap yet. But I did have some bottles of water in the cabinet, so I put one in a glass for you.”

“Thanks, Paul. That’s really nice of you.” She smiles and sits down at the chair without Paul’s jacket draped across the back.

They eat lunch making light conversation every so often, mostly about who they’ve heard from and what the fate of Hatchetfield will be.

“What about the girl you were always talking about? The barista, is she okay?”

Paul sets his fork down and looks down at his hands. “Uh, well, actually, Emma didn’t make it. We almost did, we were nearly out of Hatchetfield, but the helicopter that was supposed to get us out crashed, and so…”

Immediately, Melissa twirls her hair around her fingers nervously, worried she may have delved into uneasy territory. “Oh Paul, I’m so sorry. I know you cared about her.”

“We barely knew each other, but you’re right, I did care about her a lot. Still do. But tragedy is a part of life, and there’s no better way to cope than eating your feelings in sweets, right?”

Melissa laughs. “Amen to that! Retweet to save a life!”

Inwardly, Paul smirks to himself. “I made some apple cobbler, you want some?”

“Do I ever? I can’t believe you scored some fresh produce right now.”

Don’t freak out. She’s just inquisitive. Always has been nosy and too talkative. You know your way around this, Paul. Just—

“Improvising. I’ve gotten very good at it lately. I should be using fresh ones, but I found a can of pie filling that works just as well since the grocery store has been closed since last Sunday. Don’t tell my grandma though. That’s our secret.”

“I’ll take it to the grave.”

You sure will, Melissa.

He cuts her a hearty slice while she waits in the dining room checking her phone for any updates from her parents or friends. So far, it’s been silent on her end, but she checks out social media to see if people are talking about what’s happening. A news article with a misleading headline keeps her distracted long enough for Paul to incorporate the poison into her bowl and disguise any ill-intentioned moves.

She takes a bite, savoring the gooey, sweet warmth in her mouth.

“Wow, this is incredible, Paul! And it’s addictive too! You’re gonna make me eat this whole thing even though I’m already full.”

That’s right, keep eating. He asks her to talk more about the news article and what people have said about the events of the last two weeks here in town.

She finishes her last bite as she says, “Well, I got the news article from Facebook, but I cross-checked that the outlet is reliable. And it’s a reputable source, in my moderately professional opinion. Maybe I should be more skeptical, but they’re journalists; it’s their job to give the public accurate information, so I trust the…”

All of a sudden, a foreign sensation seizes hold of her body. Melissa feels like she’s floating away from her own body, like there’s no foundation under her. She drops her spoon into her empty bowl, the metal clanking loudly against the ceramic. Her breaths are clipped and unsteady while on the other side of the table, Paul’s looking smug as ever, an evil smile on his face.

“Oh, Mel. You really should be more careful who you trust.”

Her head snaps up as she grounds herself on the table to keep from falling onto the floor. “Wh… what? What are you talking about?”

Paul stands up and paces the floor, circling around Melissa as she coughs and gasps for air.

“I knew you wouldn’t waste the opportunity to see me again. You always did. Any time you and I could be alone together, you’d jump on it like an eager little bunny. It was really too easy to get you here under my thumb, playing my game.”

“Paul, please, you don’t have to do this—“

“It’s already done,” he says coldly as he watches Melissa double over onto the ground, clutching her stomach as she begs the bile to lift the poison from her veins. “It’s a shame, Melissa. You were one of the few truly good people in this town. But the thing is, this town wasn’t made for truly good people because your goodness is your _weakness_.”

Paul kneels down to Melissa’s level, forcing her chin up to meet his gaze. “The Hive made me strong, made me who I am now because I was honest about what I wanted. And you would never admit that you had feelings for me because you knew I wouldn’t reciprocate. Isn’t that right?”

“I… I…”

“Now or never, Melissa. Be honest, and maybe I’ll put you out of your misery.”

She clings to his arm with her remaining strength but can’t seem to find her voice, her throat swollen shut from the effects of the poison. Paul laughs, a low rumble in his chest.

“Just as I suspected, you’re weak. The Hive doesn’t like weaklings, so this is the last we’ll see of each other.” Melissa tries to scramble to her cell phone to call the police, but before she can stretch out her hand to grab it, Paul smashes it and then her hand with his foot.

“You know, the Bible says ‘Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.’ Too bad God’s not here for that to be true. Charles Darwin really knew what he was talking about. Goodbye, Melissa.”

At last, her heart gives out, and she lies in a pale cadaverous mess on Paul’s floor. He’s tempted to scrub out the blood she coughed up on the hardwood, but he knows he won’t be back in this place for a while or maybe forever, now that he has a home to share with his queen. He does, however, take care of Melissa’s body, letting it join the others floating into the sea. She became his prey, but other predators would get their feast too. That’s how it works when you’re king of the jungle.

* * *

_I wanna watch the world burn. I got the gasoline._

Emma, confident as ever, leaves behind the insidious man and sets off in search of possibly a more heinous pair. The cover of night makes her more inconspicuous, and even so, no one bats an eye at the tank of gasoline she holds at her side. Not that they would dare question her since anyone who tries would either deal with an angry Emma herself or Paul, a fate no one would choose willingly.

Sparks beneath her feet, she stalks towards the two-story house at the end of Richmond Street in hot pursuit of her final victims for the evening. The final cleansing of her demons once and for all. Tonight, she would end it. The comparison, the name-calling, the blows to her self-worth. By the end of the night, it will all be dust in the wind.

“You called me a fugly cow. Hey, mom and dad, how you like me now?”

Emma starts on the lawn coating the bushes around the house with gas, though the plants were already mostly dead anyhow. The strumming of an electric guitar vibrates in her head, the minor key riff giving her a sense of power and danger. She knows this song in her soul even though she’s never sang it. It’s the manifestation of all her teenage angst, and she knows whoever wrote this song knows exactly how Emma felt her whole life.

Her childhood bedroom is the first place she starts inside the house wanting to be rid of every reminder of her inferiority. Pictures, clothes, all of it. She wants it gone. Especially the obligatory family picture on her nightstand where they’re all smiling, though no one is truly happy. She immediately douses it in gas and lets it drown.

“You didn’t care if I lived or died, did you? So, look what happens, nightmare time. It’s worse than you could imagine, not cancer or guns, it’s incinerating you alive.”

Making her way down the stairs, she lets the living room carpet soak up the fuel and lets the smell overwhelm her senses.

“No parties, celebrations, whatever, ‘cause your other daughter was so much better. But now she’s dead, so pay attention to me. And see, I’m not your seed. I’m not that angsty teen. I’m now the Hive’s new queen, and now it’s time to make you bleed.”

Now, it’s the moment of truth. Emma’s snuck around on these creaky floorboards dozens of times to know that her muscle memory will kick in enough to help her navigate the house undiscovered. Opening the door, they’re both there, David knocked out from booze and Andrea from sleeping pills. Should be easy. Emma pops the cap and lets the liquid trickle onto the floor around their bed.

Spilling what’s left of the can without a second thought onto the sheets, Emma makes a hasty exit in case they suddenly rouse from sleep. She takes the quickest way out, which happens to be through Jane’s bedroom window. Looking around one final time at the life she knew for the first 18 years of her existence, she takes a breath, flinging the can down onto the floor. 

Emma’s eyes suddenly land on a picture of just Jane and her as kids, maybe 6 and 12 years old, on a hot June day on the beach, their faces sticky and colored with melted popsicle residue. They’re laughing looking at each other as they build a clumsy sandcastle. Emma doesn’t remember smiling that widely since then. She removes the picture from its frame and tucks it in her jacket.

Before she climbs out the window to finish the job, she whispers to the darkness, “It’s not your fault, Jane. It was never your fault.”

And then strike. Flame. Nothing’s the same.

Emma tosses the match into the hall and runs out the window before the flames can catch her. Not that it particularly matters if she’s burned in the fray, but it would be nice not to go home smelling like gas or having to nurse any injuries.

It’s almost too quick, happens almost too fast for her liking, but up goes her house in a fury of flames, and Emma stands back on the grass in awe watching her childhood trauma crumble into ash before her eyes. Just like that, it’s over.

She stays until the last piece of sheetrock shatters and disintegrates to the ground before she examines the damage. A pile of ash is all that’s left of the tortured existence she knew for the first 18 years of her life. The rubble is all that remains, and good riddance, she thinks.

When Emma returns home, she shrugs off her jacket by the door and takes the last remainder of her childhood with her, tucking it away in her nightstand in between a book. She changes her clothes to ward off any stray droplets of gasoline that might have attached themselves to her clothes, though the smoky smell still clings to her.

It feels good to be rid of her parents knowing they’ll never come back to question or berate her again, but a numbness floods her body once she realizes that everything that was somewhat normal about this town is gone now. Not that her life was ever really normal, but her perceived normal has been obliterated. Her life before dead sisters, creepy stalkers, and singing aliens has vanished. Is it for the better? Only time will tell.

Pensively, she lies down on the couch and waits for Paul to return, hoping he’s finding satisfaction in his mission.

* * *

_It’s a thrill and a drug, so call me a terrible guy._

Paul feels the adrenaline rushing through his veins. There’s no feeling like the high of a fresh kill, and he takes a moment to breathe in the endorphins that flood his body. He licks a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth and sets off in hot pursuit of his next prey.

Now, this one he can play a game or two with and enjoy the hell out of it too. Simon Anderson, the boy who subjected Paul to incessant torture in school, would finally get a taste of his own medicine, along with his jock cronies that still after almost 20 years lap at his feet like puppies. This should be one hell of a ride.

It’s nightfall as Simon leaves the lone bar in Hatchetfield. Of course, he’s drinking with his idiot friends and not an ounce of estrogen in sight, Paul thinks as he waits around the corner for his ambush. He seizes his moment as Simon whips out his phone and starts scrolling through social media, the target now flashing on his back. With perhaps a little more force than necessary, Paul slams Simon’s body against the chain-link fence behind him and knocks his phone clear out of reach.

“Whoa, man, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’d say it’s good to see you again, Simon, but then again, I don’t lie.”

“H—how do you know my name? Who the hell are you?”

Simon’s friends are by his side at a moment’s notice, phones ready to dial 911.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Paul sing-songs. “You see, I’ve got Hatchetfield PD wrapped around my pinky finger. So, you can call them if you’d like, but they’ll show up with backup prepared to beat the shit out of you at my signal.”

His two friends drop their phones into their pockets and lift their hands in surrender.

The shorter of the two men to Paul’s right stammers, “Look, d—do you want my money? My ID’s in my back pocket, you can have all of—”

“I don’t want your fucking money, Aaron,” Paul sneers. “God knows you could use it to pay off all that credit card debt you owe.”

Simon starts to struggle against Paul’s grip, but he holds firm with little effort. “How do you know us? Who the fuck are you?”

Paul chuckles as the fear in Simon’s eyes grows, though he tries to remain tough. “Interesting you don’t remember me. But I guess things look different on the other side of the fence, now don’t they?”

The recognition slides into focus in Simon’s eyes, and he finally recognizes who he’s talking to as he shrinks against the fence. “Son of a bitch. Paul Matthews.”

An evil smile crosses Paul’s face. “Long time, no see.”

“Nah, it can’t be. You’re tall and kinda jacked, dude. Paul Matthews was a fuckin’ dweeb.” He and his friends snicker as they remember what Paul used to be like at Sycamore Middle.

“Well, some of us grew up and out of our old ways, Simon.” He sneers down at the man pinned to the fence. “Though I can’t speak for all of us, clearly.”

The chin link begins to dig further into Simon’s back, and he stammers, his heart pounding. “Hey man, if you’re upset about all those years I picked on you in school, I—”

Paul laughs, his forearm sliding up from Simon’s chest to his throat. His blue eyes begin to glow, swirling with primal hunger that makes the man in front of him tremble. “Apologies are long overdue, Simon. They’re useless anyway now that I have everything I could ever want. Well, except for one thing.”

“Anything, I’ll give you anything you want. I’m sorry, just please don’t hurt me.”

The arm against Simon’s throat dangerously presses into his windpipe, and Paul keeps the pressure there just long enough to make his vision swim before easing up slightly. “Oh, you really shouldn’t have said that.”

“Wh—what are you gonna do to me?”

Leaning in close to his ear, he presses Simon further back to where Paul towers over him. “Like you said, you’re gonna give me everything I want. And right now, I want all of you motherfuckers to suffer like I did.” Simon’s friends begin to back away slowly, but Paul whips his head around to stop them before they get away. “Don’t even think about it. You can try to run, but you won’t get very far. In case you weren’t aware, I run this town now, and I’ve got friends everywhere to make sure that assholes like you get what they deserve.”

The other friend, Jacob, brandishes a pocket knife poised to charge at Paul, but when he gets close enough to drive a blow, Paul’s hand snaps out and squeezes Jacob’s wrist, forcing the knife out of his hands. “It’s pointless to try that. You can’t kill me because, well, I’m already dead.” 

Bending his wrist in the opposite direction, he forces Jacob to the ground, the crunch of bone sending something deeply satisfying down Paul’s spine. He picks up the fallen knife and kneels down next to the fallen man on the ground with its tip aimed at his throat.

“You, on the other hand, you still bleed. Fresh and human. I’m going to enjoy this more than you know.”

With one slash to the throat, bright red blood spills onto Paul’s white shirt, and his first victim falls limply to the ground. Two more to go. Aaron starts to run, stumbling backwards, but Paul hauls him around the waist and lands a deft punch to his stomach that sends him hurtling back into the fence near Simon.

Aaron yells with his remaining strength, “The fuck is wrong with you, man? I always knew you were a weird kid, but I didn’t think you’d turn out to be a fuckin’ psycho too.”

“You know, you always talked too much. All bark with no substance. Lucky for me, I’m about to change that. For good.” Another swift swipe to the throat sends Aaron down fallen next to his friend, leaving only the primary source of Paul’s adolescent misery.

“Please, please, you don’t have to do this. I’m sorry, I really am—” 

Paul swings his fist at Simon’s face, giving him a black left eye that mirrors the one Simon gave him all those years ago. Sure, Paul is tempted to call it even with that and leave someone else to take care of Simon, but he’s not exactly in a forgiving mood, nor does he think anyone else will finish the job how they should. Paul needs to do this.

He takes the knife and slowly nicks small cuts into his throat. An act of foreshadowing, if you will. “You made my life a living hell. I suffered for years because of you, but I’m gonna do you a favor and make this quick. What goes around comes around, Simon, so I guess you could say this was… inevitable.”

Simon braces himself for the impact at his throat but isn’t prepared for Paul to divert his attack, choosing to reach into his stomach and gut him from the inside out. Blood pours from his mouth and drenches the front of Paul’s shirt as he crumples to the ground. He knows he’s dead, but just for the hell of it, Paul slits his throat, reveling in the fresh blood that coats the knife and splatters across his face.

He closes the knife and stuffs it in his pocket but not before he swipes a finger across the blade and swirls his tongue around it. It’s metallic and bitter, but it’s a salve to the rage he felt when he first laid eyes on Simon and his bastard friends.

Sometimes, it feels good to kick it up a notch.

* * *

_I decided I must ride you till I break you._

The high sustains him all the way home as he hums a tune down the street. _They had it comin’, they had it comin’, they had it comin’ all along._ He knew the people that he and Emma killed today deserved it, and no one could say they were wrong for wanting to dish out some revenge to the people who hurt them most. As the heads of the Hive, they make the rules, and if justice needs to be taken into their hands, so be it.

Paul enters their house singing her name, already trying to seduce her. When she doesn’t immediately respond to his song, he starts to worry and calls out for her until he finds her in a trance lying on the couch, her mind clearly in another realm.

“Emma, what’s wrong? Are you alright, sweetheart?”

He touches her shoulder gently as he whispers her name once more, and she twitches, finally breaking her blank daydream. “What? Oh, hi babe, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? You didn’t answer when I called the first time.” Emma nods, forcing her smile. He’s not convinced. He knows her too well now. Paul bends down to her and tucks her bangs behind her ear while shifting the rest of her hair in front of her shoulder to play with it. “I can tell something’s bothering you, Em. Come on, you can talk to me. Just let it out.”

She takes a deep breath and looks up at her boyfriend. “Paul, I… I just want to feel something.”

“Okay, how can I help?”

Emma scoots closer to him, grabbing his blood-spattered tie. She looks like she’s about to make a request but forgoes the formalities and slams her lips into his. He makes a hungry sound as he threads his fingers through her hair and slides his tongue in her mouth. Paul bites her lip, and Emma moans pleadingly in a high pitch.

“Is this what you want? You want it rough?” She nods, diving back in for another kiss. He quickly diverts his attention to her neck and jawline, planting kisses and love bites all over her skin. “Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Ahhh, fuck, yes. Please, just like this.”

Paul’s ego swells at her quick reduction to breathiness. He knows she doesn’t have time or desire for slow or gentle right now; if she wants to feel, then feel she will.

He hauls her up off the couch, tugging her wrist to bring her into his arms for another kiss. Emma stretches on her toes to reach him, but she doesn’t stretch for long because Paul picks her up to wrap her legs around his waist. They’re to the bedroom in a few steps, though the bed isn’t their first destination. Slamming the door shut with her body, he cradles her head but lets her back hit the wooden door carelessly.

Emma can’t help but feel massively turned on when he gets like this, possessive and unhinged, mostly because it’s so _not_ Paul. There’s raw power rushing through his body and to be feeling the effects of it fills her with toe-curling satisfaction. Right now, it feels good to give up control and allow herself to surrender knowing she’ll be taken care of.

In a quick second, she’s away from the door and flat on her back in bed, giggling as Paul attacks her neck with kisses and slides his hand under her shirt to tickle her ribs. Her squirming makes it easier for him to work her pants down her legs, and he lines her inner thigh with kisses. Paul bites at her hip bone and soothes the spot after he’s planted his mark.

“You said you wanted to feel something, right?” Emma nods and opens her legs a bit wider. Suddenly, the scrape of a blade opening makes her gasp, her muscles tensing at the sound. It’s not a limit for her, but it’s certainly something she’s never done. “Be still, Emma.”

She focuses on breathing as his mouth finds her center and begins to lick her in earnest. He’s almost finding the spot she needs the friction most or is intentionally avoiding it to test her; either way, Emma can’t help but roll her hips to give him the hint. But Paul knows what he wants, and he’s not in the mood to acquiesce his power so easily. He retracts, pressing his forearm over her hip bones, and drags the knife up her leg. The feather-light pressure of the blade tip sends goosebumps down her arms and makes her breathing accelerate.

“Paul, please…”

“Don’t forget who’s in control now, Emma. I have the power to make you bleed, and I’m not afraid to use it,” he says dangerously.

Emma’s hand finds his hair, curling her fingers in tighter as he kisses his way up her stomach to her chest, the knife trailing just a second behind. It snaps the front of her bra cleanly in two; thank god she didn’t like that one anyway. He wastes no time in attaching his mouth to her nipple and teasing the other with the tip of the knife.

So many people are scared of his power, but she isn’t. He would never use it to intentionally hurt her, and seeing how the Hive transformed him into this ambitious leader makes it even more attractive considering the man he was before. Still, he’s retained a lot of that boyish awkwardness and charm that is inherently Paul, and Emma loves those parts of him just as much as she loves the more assertive version of him.

He switches sides but forgoes using the knife on his non-dominant hand, instead focusing on roughly hardening her nipple. A few seconds later, he pulls away and brings the knife back, this time to her stomach, writing her name in script just below her belly button.

Emma realizes what kind of test this is and exactly what he wants her to feel, and she has to admit it’s working. The contrast between soft and light and hard and rough pulls her from her trancelike state, but god, she wants to come. She needs it. Paul senses her urgency, so he sets the knife aside and slides his fingers inside of her while he flicks his tongue against her clit every so often to contrast the roughness of his touch. It only takes another minute before she’s fisting her hand in Paul’s hair to keep him exactly where he is as she rides out her orgasm on his fingers.

When she recovers, he moves up on the bed and kisses Emma slowly and gently. She swirls her tongue in his mouth to taste herself on his lips and loses herself in his kiss. Emma swings her leg over his hip and uses his momentary distraction from her moaning to roll on top of him and straddle his waist. A mix of red blood and blue spit covers her chest and stomach, the colors blending into purple in some areas, and Paul can’t help but adore her.

“How are you feeling now, Em?”

“Pretty damn good,” she rasps as she finds the sweet spot on Paul’s neck. Emma grinds her hips down, and clearly, she hasn’t had enough yet. “But I could be better.”

“How so?”

“Get your pants off, and I’ll show you,” she whispers in his ear. That spurs him into action, reaching below Emma to take off his pants, but he can’t resist smacking her ass before he gives Emma what she asked for. As soon as she’s able to, Emma scoots back and slides down on his dick with a sigh. She braces her hands on his chest and tosses her hair back. “Yeah, much better.”

Paul groans. “Oh, _fuck_ , Emma…”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to get you to do, but since I have to do everything myself…”

“Maybe I was just waiting for you to tell me what you want,” he quips.

Emma hums with a smirk. “No, you weren’t. Because I know for a fact you _love_ this and wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He looks up at her, his hands wrapped lightly around her wrists. “Don’t be so sure.”

“Why, you’re gonna prove me wrong,” she challenges, her eyebrows cocked upwards.

He matches the assured expression on her face, and in half a second has her back on her back with her wrists pinned above her head, arching up towards him. She curses and moans his name as he fucks her, her eyes screwed shut. “I think I’ve made my point.”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” she sighs. He presses his lips to hers without complaint.

“God, Emma, I’ve wanted this more than you know. Been thinking about this all day.”

“Paul, stop talking, or I’m gonna make you stop.”

He blows a raspberry with his lips and playfully rolls his eyes. Emma, always needing the last word, pushes him off of her, and she doesn’t hesitate to move down the bed and wrap her mouth around him, reducing him to a moaning mess on his back. She opens her throat and takes in as much of him as she can, looking up at Paul cheekily all the while, proving her point that she can, in fact, make him stop talking without much effort. 

Emma circles her tongue around his dick and lets out a moan of her own when he latches onto her hair to move her head up and down. He mumbles broken fragments of sentences all in adoration of the woman sharing the bed with him. It would be so easy to let go and give into his desire to come, but he wants to hold off his release until she’s ready.

“Touch yourself, Em,” he commands, his voice lower-pitched than usual.

She chases her own pleasure with fierceness, slipping her hand down to tease her clit while thrusting two fingers in and out. Her mouth still bobs, and she hasn’t lost sight of her original goal, but she’s getting a secondary benefit from Paul’s instruction. She’s a lot closer to her orgasm than she thought she was, and Paul’s low sounds of encouragement are only driving her closer to her peak. Her hand speeds up, and her muscles tense as she moans around him when her release crashes over her. Paul follows her when she comes down from her high, mumbling her praises while thrusting into her mouth.

Sated and calm for the first time all day, Emma lays her head on her forearms as she rests beside Paul’s hip. She’s not in the same trance as she was before, but she’s somewhere in a daydream, eyes unfocused on a spot in the headboard. They lie in silence for a few moments before Paul breaks it, smiling down at her.

“How’s the view from down there?” Emma laughs under her breath and rolls her eyes as she scoots up the bed. “I didn’t say you had to move, I was just going to say that prime real estate is up here, but you do have to pay a premium.”

“Name your price.”

“A kiss,” he says with a wide smile.

“You’re such a fucking dork,” Emma teases, leaning in to peck his lips.

“You love it,” he replies against her lips. She pulls back and rests her head back on her forearms finding a spot on the wall to get lost in. “Hey, love. You feeling better?” Emma shrugs without lifting her head. There’s something still weighing on her, and Paul can’t quite figure out what it is. “Do you wanna talk?” 

She does nothing for a moment except look away before shrugging once again, smaller this time, which most likely means “no,” but she won’t say it. Paul sits up and moves to the end of the bed to stand up, which makes Emma start to sit up in worry. Her gut tightens at the thought of Paul leaving, and she looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes. Thankfully, he extends his hands out to her, inviting her to come with him.

“Let’s go get cleaned up, okay?”

Emma nods and croaks, “Okay.”

Paul starts the water in the bathtub and pulls Emma into a hug stroking her hair. He starts swaying with her after a few moments of just holding her, initiating an impromptu dance.

“And you know, you know, you know it’s ‘cause you’re beautiful,” he starts to sing as he lifts her chin up. “You say you’re numb inside, but I can’t agree. So, the world’s unfair; keep it locked out there.” Paul touches his hand to her heart. Though it no longer beats, the sentiment remains. “In here, it’s beautiful.”

Emma smiles up at him and wraps her hands around his neck, pulling him down to meet her level. “I love you.”

He kisses her tenderly while his hands caress her sides, and before they can get too lost in each other’s embrace, they break apart for Paul to turn off the water.

Emma fits her back to Paul’s front in the tub, and he takes his time washing her body and massaging her muscles, willing them to relax. It’s been a taxing day for them both, and they could both use a little late night recuperation in each other’s arms. Every so often, he kisses her hair and gives her a compliment, but they don’t say much else; they both just need to recover from the day’s hard work and emotional heavy-lifting.

He worships her through the rest of the night, whispering words of affection as he kisses every inch of her available skin. Paul makes sure Emma knows how loved she is and how deserving of a queen she is. Emma reciprocates not by returning the favor of flowery phrases, but by letting Paul say them and not arguing or denying their truth. It’s the best thing he could ask for at the end of the day.

Controlling a town’s population is fairly easy since the citizens have to do what they’re told to do, but what isn’t easy is resurfacing demons from years ago and finally laying them to rest. The catharsis of it all is finally coming to a head, and now, all that’s left to do is heal. Tend to each other’s wounds and prevent them from festering. Nurture any uneasiness, soothe any doubt, and love each other through the madness.

Revenge tastes sweet, but ruling the town that preyed on their deepest insecurities together is the cherry on the top of their cake.

**Author's Note:**

> This one is dedicated to the MMO chat on Instagram. You know who you are if you're reading this. 👅
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic! Feel free to chat with me on Tumblr @somethingsareworthit if you want, and if you have suggestions or ideas, always let me know 😊


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